Lahat ng Kabanata ng Remember me naked: Kabanata 181 - Kabanata 190

TANIAHe says nothing at first. His silence has become a language I almost understand better than his words. But this time, there is no waiting, no cruel game: he leans toward me with contained strength, and I already feel the burn of what is to come.His lips crash onto mine, not like a caress, but like a grip. I moan, surprised by the tender violence of his kiss. His mouth devours, demands, commands, and mine surrenders, captivated, consumed. Every breath becomes a struggle, every sigh, an offering.He lifts me with a brutal and sure gesture, as if I weigh nothing. My body presses against his instinctively, my arms clinging to his neck as if my life depended on it. His warmth invades me, overwhelms me, and I understand that nothing will separate us from this collision.The world around disappears: there is only the sting of his kisses, the firmness of his hands pressing me against him, the fire spreading through my veins. I have no will left. I no longer want to have one.He lays me

LyraThe night unfurls its last threads of light when I suddenly feel the air change. Until now, the garden vibrated with muffled laughter, reassuring conversations, and soft music pushing away the shadows. Then a dull, metallic sound, a prelude to something bad: hurried footsteps on the lawn, low, hoarse voices, and that sharp crack that tears the evening from its sweetness.Everything rushes. Shadows emerge between the lanterns, black as ink stains. Hooded men, armed, appear without warning, breathless and precise. The first collective reaction is disbelief: we laugh, we think it’s a bad joke. Then the rifles are raised, the guns aimed, and the laughter dies in an instant.“Don't move!” shouts a muffled voice behind a mask. “On the ground, now! And you, don't make any sudden moves.”The guests collapse, chairs fall, glasses roll and shatter with a clatter. Screams, cries, whispered orders. I feel like the world is slowing down: the dress that envelops me, Alexandre's hand tightening

LyraThe silhouette remains in the doorway, motionless for a few seconds as if to gauge the scene, then steps forward. The light from the hallway outlines sharp contours on its masked face. I see neither eyes nor features, only the shadow of a smile perhaps, or the relief of a clenched jaw. The other men step back, yielding space to him like a captain.I sit up as best as I can in the chair; the straw scratches my skin, my wrists throb. My voice comes out hoarse, but I refuse to let it break.— What do you want? I say in a tone meant to sound authoritative even though I fear betraying myself.Silence. Then the man sits across from me without removing his mask. He examines my bound hands, my face, as if trying to read a map. A small, sharp noise: he places something on the table, a notebook or a folder whose contents I cannot distinguish. He waits for me to speak, for a hint to emerge from me.— Speak, I insist. If you want money, say so. If it’s not me, maybe you’ve got the wrong pers

They left like a storm passes, leaving behind the crash and the smell of burnt tires. The living room door still hangs on its hinges, a cold breath opens and closes the shutters of a house emptied of its tranquility. The silence that follows is heavier than any noise: it screams everything that words refuse.Alexandre lies on the tiled floor, his shirt open, a dark stain spreading under his neck. He does not move. His breath is weak, like a sheet barely lifted. Beside him, a tipped glass greens the light; a pool of liquid blends with something more terrible. Alexandre's face is pale, his features frozen in an expression that belongs only to those who have given so much that they seem to fade away.Lucas is kneeling on the lawn, his hand pressed against his side, an arm that refuses to stay clean. He spits blood that stains the grass, bright red against the nighttime pallor. His eyes, when caught, are wild with pain and determination. He tries to rise, stumbles, falls back down. It see

TaniaI gather a few willing neighbors. Together, we organize improvised search groups, mainly people who know the area, runners, dog walkers. We review the private surveillance cameras nearby; some have indeed recorded something, but curiously, several seem to have been scrambled or cut off around the time of the abduction. It's more than a coincidence. My anger rises: this is not the work of amateurs.I return to the hospital after leaving messages; the night is long, but I need to be useful rather than just wait. There, I am told that Lucas is being kept under observation, that he suffered a shock and a significant injury but that his prognosis seems stable. I leave my contact information, promising to remain reachable. Every second away from Lyra weighs on me like a stone.Between two hallway strolls, I think about the last time I saw Lyra. She was laughing, a glass in hand, her eyes shining with naive joy. She was still wearing the ring that Alexandre had given her. What if that